Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
My heart gives a thrilling pound as I remove my toothbrush from the travel case and stand idly at the sink, brushing my teeth. Wash my mouth out with spearmint.
Brush the knots out of my hair until it’s shiny and straight.
No sooner am I climbing back into bed—naked—than I hear the keycard being swiped over the security pad, the lock clicking open.
The door eases open bit by bit, Rowdy steps inside, dropping his bag by our tiny couch. Kicks off his shoes and pulls off his socks.
I watch from the bed as he lifts his shirt, balls it up, and tosses it next to the bed. Shucks his shorts, sliding them down his tapered waist.
Rowdy’s muscles are dense and taut, veins rushing with liquid oxygen. He braces his arms behind his head and stretches, rotating his waist to the left, then the right, pulling on his forearms.
His abs contract.
My body gets hot.
When he’s done stretching, he turns his back on the bed, walking to the bathroom, every muscle in his body contracting.
I hear the sink running when he steps inside then the tapping of his toothbrush against the porcelain. The toilet flushes.
I’m on my back when he comes out, sheet up over my torso, hands folded behind my head. Content and lazy, like a cat waiting to be petted.
Worshiped and adored.
“You’re up.” He smiles in the semi-darkness.
“Mmm,” is my reply. “I’m up.”
“What a coincidence.” He chuckles. “I’m up, too.”
There is a noticeable bulge in his boxers that he adjusts when he moves closer, squatting a few inches to lift and shift his dick from one side of his shorts to the other. It’s a total jock thing to do.
Now he’s next to the bed, leaning over to kiss me, his minty fresh mouth opening to taste me, tongue sliding in. I let my hands slide into the waistband of his underwear, edging them off his hips.
He tugs them off completely, stepping out, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
Slides the sheet off my body and crawls into bed, arm already reaching for the condoms in the bedside table.
One of those big, rough hands skims tenderly down my hip. “Are you sore?”
“A little.”
He kisses me again. “Sorry.”
But his large body feels divine. Heavy and warm, brawny arm draped around my waist, hauling me in. Bodies lined up, perfect.
“It’s all right. I knew what to expect.”
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
No. I want him to fill me like he did last night; insatiably curious, I want more. Everything, not just his tongue.
“Or do you want a quickie?”
“No.” I shake my head slowly. “I want it slow.”
I want him gentle. I want to take our time.
I want Sterling to feel how fast my heart beats when he touches me, big bear paws gently caressing the skin along my hip, lips warm. Tender.
I love everything about him; he is everything.
We kiss with our eyes open, mouths open, tongues lazily stroking so I can see everything he feels reflected in his eyes—the same way I did last night.
The self-control for my sake.
The adoration.
How he knows my body is still sensitive and treats me like a breakable piece of glass when really all he wants to do is pound into me. His self-control is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
Remarkable.
Impressive.
Admirable, really.
Inch by glorious inch, he pushes in, inhaling the air at the crook of my neck. Murmuring. Checking to make sure I’m okay.
“Are you all right?”
I’m better than all right.
I reach up to brush back his hair, the words I love you, Sterling burning the back of my throat. The telltale signs of my nose tingling give my brain the signal to send water to my eyes.
These tears are my feelings for him, tangible proof that everything between us is right. Last night was everything a first time should be, and I couldn’t have chosen any better.
Sterling eyes widen when he spots the tear sliding down my cheek. “Why—are you okay? Scarlett…”
“I’m happy.” I love you.
He holds himself above me, buried inside. Leans down, those massive, strong forearms braced on either side of my face. Instead of brushing the tear away with his fingertip like I expect him to do, he licks it.
Flicks it with his tongue.
I grip his biceps. “Deeper.”
I never get tired of seeing his bottom teeth drag along his lower lips, and it arouses me more seeing them now. White, gleaming, perfect.
He pushes deeper. Rotates his pelvis.
“Yeah, like that…”
“Mmm…” My head turns to the side, cheek against the pillow.
“Scarlett, look at me,” he rasps, emotional.
I look at him.
I see him.
I love him.
TENTH FRIDAY
“The One Where I Stick it in Some Other Guy’s Ass (Metaphorically Speaking).”
Rowdy
Me: I miss your face so fucking hard.
Scarlett: I know, I miss you, too. So much.
Me: One more week is going to drive me nuts—how many days is it exactly?